


Meeting Dreams

by Trista_zevkia



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Superman - All Media Types, Superman/Batman (Comics)
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 17:11:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1656107
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trista_zevkia/pseuds/Trista_zevkia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over four meetings, co-workers become lovers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Meeting Dreams

**Author's Note:**

> My first Superman/Batman fanfic, circa 2007. I did clean it up, but tried to keep it as it was stylistically.

So I was born on another planet. Big Deal. I’m still more human emotionally than most people want to admit. If you want something alien, try Batman! The peak of human physicality wasn’t enough for him; Batman went out and trained his brain into something impossible. I stand in awe of him. But more than that, I lust after his perfection.

Sitting around this table his deep, scary voice rumbles out instructions that’ll be followed to the letter. I sit here and try not to get as hard as the high backed chair I’m in. What would he do if I picked him up and threw him across the table? Call him Bruce, insult him, and remind him that he’s only human. Use my heat vision to melt cuffs from the table. Burn off every bit of that fancy armor, except the cowl. Protect his secret identity and all that. 

He fights with his legs so I have to watch that he doesn’t get me in the groin, hard as I am, I’d probably break his foot. I rip my own clothes off, letting them all get a glance of two perfect specimens. I grab his cock with my mouth and proceed to suck it into hardness. I suck so hard I have to be careful not to super-suck his dick off. Against his formidable will, he grows hard. I taste the pre-cum on his slit and almost come from desire alone. 

He doesn’t sweat, normal people sweat, but I notice he’s stopped struggling. He narrows his eyes to an eagles stare, though how he manages that with those lenses I’ll never know. He doesn’t understand why I have stopped sucking. I give him a slow smile and sit on his impressively hard dick. Without lubrication only gravity pulls us together. He grunts, and I know he’ll be raw in the morning. Suddenly he thrusts and we are together. Never have I been so glad that I was close enough to human to have a prostate. Bruce fills me like I never imagined, as if his dick was made to fit my ass. 

He thrusts against me again, and again setting up a fast rhythm as if he wants to get this over with. I want to stay this way forever, but all too soon Bruce comes, exploding inside me. Overwhelmed with the feeling of his life force dripping out of me, I come. Super sperm now coats his flat abs and the remains of his utility belt. He’s looking at me, expecting something. With a start I separate the fully clothed Batman at the table from the naked one in my imagination! I have entirely lost the thread of the conversation and have no idea what he just said to me. 

“Sorry, Batman, I didn’t understand the question.” I respond, hoping he will dumb down whatever he just said. He scowls at me from beneath the cowl and replies. 

“I asked if you were paying attention.” He growls at me. “Obviously you are not.” 

“Sorry Batman, guess I was daydreaming.” With my eyes I beg him to ask about what, but he has moved on to the next topic of discussion. Well, I’m sure it’ll come up at the next meeting. 

sB _Sb_ Bs

Dreaming During Meetings Batman is not here right now, if you care to leave a message please do so after the growl. I can’t make up my mind if I want to giggle or cry at the silly path my thoughts are taking, neither of which Batman does during a JL meeting. Or at all, I feel obligated to remind myself. I’m so freaking tired. 

I’m near my exhaustion point. Brucie’s life is hopping, a crime wave is spreading across Gotham, and Batman’s in charge of designing and paying for the newest JL headquarters. I know I should have gotten out of this meeting and slept. And yet, here I am, trying to follow what Green Lantern was talking about. Threats to the other Lanterns could find their way across space and threaten this planet, so Batman needed to be prepared for them. 

Batman was here to explain the latest design specs on the new Watchtower orbital station, because the others needed to understand what was happening there. Nobody wants them to just show up and start pushing buttons like super powered monkeys. Exhaustion is making me irritable, which means I might say that out loud. I do attempt to only be insulting when it did some good or taught a lesson, but some of these people were just perfect targets. 

Maybe, if I’m as good as everyone thinks, I could get up from the chair, cross the brightly lit room, fix a cup of coffee and make it back to my seat without anyone noticing. Or maybe not. I should have brought the coffee carafe to the table, but no! Batman didn’t want anyone to think he was human. At least the lenses are down, against that ridiculously bright lighting, so that when I fall asleep from G.L.’s monotone nobody will notice. Without a caffeine refill, drastic measures were clearly called for. I keep my head toward GL but cast my eyes at Superman and let the anger refresh me. 

Superman was clearly paying attention to G.L. He hung on every word uttered in these meetings, unless Batman talked. Then his eyes got all glassy, his cheeks tinged with red and his body froze. I’m not sure, but I think Clark forgets to breathe during those daydreams. It hadn’t taken me long to figure out what Clark was dreaming about. The real question was who was he dreaming about having sex with? Deductive reasoning figured it was Lois, as she was the only constant in both Clark’s and Superman’s worlds. Which, oddly, reminds me that Brucie had an interview scheduled with Clark day after tomorrow. Too tired to think linearly, apparently. 

After the meetings, Clark was able to recall most of what was said. He only had to be refreshed on the bits that happened toward the conclusion of his wet dreams. This was what really irritated Batman. That naturally eidetic memory, enhanced hearing and Clark used it to daydream during meetings. Batman had struggled to get close to those things and still had electronic help for when he fell short, like the hearing. The best use of heat vision Clark could think of probably involved initials and a heart on a defenseless tree. Everything came so naturally to the Man of Steel it was an insult to people who worked for similar skills. 

Ever since the founding of this little league, Clark had been drifting away during Batman’s talks. At first it was just an occasional happy little thought, but it had quickly developed into a full blow daydreams. Only Clark’s cellular level control kept him from soaking his red briefs at every meeting. Then he doubtless ran off to little miss Lois “Kidnap me to get to Superman’s attention” Lane to enact whatever he had thought up. 

Batman had tried to put away the anger as irrelevant, because Clark still kept up with the important things. But I hadn’t been able to dispel it, so I used it. Made the stupid emotion keep me awake and alert when I needed a boost. So now, when G.L. finished, Batman stalked to the front of the room and no longer felt the need to yawn. 

I at least attempted to make my speeches interesting, in that Batman threatened bodily harm to those not listening properly, but I also knew the rules of public speaking. How to space slides, to format the text and pictures, and how engage the audience. Maybe I’m not the most interesting speaker, but as I point out specific functions on the enlarged diagram on the projected screen, I can _feel_ Clark lose focus. Turning back, I see Superman isn’t present in his body. I let Batman leaned his fists into the table before him and glare at Clark. 

“Damn it, Clark! I’ve put a lot of time, money and effort into this project. If you can’t be bothered to pay attention, you could leave or share your little sex fantasy with the rest of us so we can all get it out of our systems.” Batman froze, holding his glare in place. I started praying in my mind. “Whatever deities are listening, if you make it so I didn’t say that out loud, I’ll believe in you forever and donate large sums of money to you!” 

Crap. Clark’s face now matches his cape, showing that no listening deities deigned to respond. All the other Leaguers were glancing between us, trying to figure out what was going on. They had been watching Batman, believing he would harm them if they didn’t listen; they hadn’t seen Clark’s brain vacate his body. Quick, play it off like it was no big deal, and everybody else would think that. 

Batman turned back the projected image to find his place. He moved quicker than I had planned, having expected to wait a certain length of time for people to absorb the technical details before moving on. I’m done ten minutes early, and Superman dismisses the meeting before I can make it back to my seat. 

Mentally adjusting my schedule for the day as I make sure the schematics haven’t been downloaded onto the Watchtower’s old computer, I suppress another yawn. I defiantly needed sleep if I was yelling at people during meetings. Satisfied the plans remained only on my systems, I turn to leave the empty room and find Superman lurking in the doorway. I don’t have the energy for a half-assed apology only offered after being caught in the act. I glare at Clark as I head for the door, knowing he can tell even if I have the lenses down. 

Clark works his mouth as he searches for the words, before blurting out. “Please don’t forget the interview, day after tomorrow, 11AM.” 

Clark is blushing as he moves out of the doorway. Batman tosses him a ‘fine’ as he goes by. I can feel Clark staring at my back as I leave, though Batman doubts that’ll make Clark’s embarrassment go away. I allow my tired body to relax a little as I leave, planning on four hours of sleep before I go out on patrol. I really need to sleep now, before I missed something important. 

sB _Sb_ Bs

A Meeting to Dream About At 11:05 AM, I give into the urge and start pacing the luxurious waiting room outside of Bruce Wayne’s office. His secretaries exchange glances that declare me a rube. From his seat, I see Jimmy follow my every movement. Finally he clears his throat to speak. 

“Gee, Clark. Why’re you so nervous? You’ve interviewed Mr. Wayne a bunch of times.” 

How am I supposed to respond to that? Well Jimmy, last time I saw Bruce we were in costume and he suggested I share my fantasy with a roomful of people. A reoccurring fantasy in which I come up with ways to get him to shove his dick in my ass, sometimes with a watching audience. So much of that explanation would have to be explained that it wouldn’t be worth it. I love Jimmy like a kid brother, but I had reasons for wanting to come to this interview alone. I really wish Perry hadn’t insisted Jimmy come on this little trip, but he claimed our stock picture of Bruce was too old. 

Old or not, he was still ridiculously gorgeous in it, though the copy on my computer was only there to help me when writing about him. The copy on my phone was for when he called, (rarely to never). I just hope no one ever finds the one on my personal computer or the printout under my bed. Crap! When you combined that with fact I often listened to his heartbeat from orbit, I was almost in crazy stalker mode, wasn’t I? 

“Clark?” 

“Sorry Jimmy, I don’t know why I’m so nervous.” Because I couldn’t do anything with Jimmy watching anyway. 

“No Clark, the secretary said we could go in.” 

“What?” I have super hearing and his secretary surprised me? What, does Bruce insist his secretaries take ninja training as well as dictation? I follow Jimmy in and plaster a warm smile on my face. 

“Clark Kent and photographer of the Daily Planet. Welcome to Gotham!” Brucie is holding court, reading from an index card. Did he keep us waiting fifteen minutes because I brought Jimmy? I rush forward and shake his proffered hand over the desk, purposely built so large that a visitor has to bow over it to reach Brucie. A power thing, though if he really wanted to impress his visitors he’d show them his intelligence. 

“Mister Wayne, it’s wonderful to be here, and to get to interview you again. This is Jimmy Olsen; he just needs a few new shots for the paper.” Let him know Jimmy wasn’t an enemy, and not my idea before he gets too Brucie. Jimmy’s trying to decide if he wants to bow or shake hands, so Bruce bends a little to get it over with. 

“Well young man, you just position me anyway you want!” 

My breath stops as I think about some of the positions I’d like to see Bruce in. He said it, but didn’t mean it as he proceeds to sit down and pose. Jimmy is snapping pictures like he’s hypnotized by that vapid smile, until he says with complete innocence. 

“What about that laptop, Mr. Wayne? Do you want to look like you’re working on it?” 

Bruce’s eyes narrow for just a second and Jimmy’s digital camera is still whirring. If he got a picture of that look, it’s going in the collection under my bed. 

“Now Timmy, if your paper published the pictures on that laptop, your circulation will defiantly go up.” He says this with a bawdy wink and a fake Brucie laugh that causes Jimmy to blush. 

Curious, I take a look. The laptop screen is hard to decipher in x-ray vision but I figure out it’s the schematics of the JL headquarters he was talking about at our last meeting. That would up the circulation, but not in the way Jimmy thinks. The meeting about those specs did not go well. 

I try not to blush at the memory of him calling me out about my lapse of attention. I fled as soon as I could after ending the meeting, but returned after everyone else had left. Like a horny, super-powered moth to an intense flame. I wanted to tell him of my dreams and spend the rest of time enacting them out. Instead, I chickened out. 

Got to watch his shoulders sag as he left, disappointed that I was too much of a coward to come on to him. It broke my heart and I swore, no matter what, I’d say something the next time we met. Except Jimmy was here, trying to convince Bruce he needed another memory card full of pictures. Time to intercede before Bruce got too far from ‘Kimmy’ in his replies. You could tell how irritated Bruce was by how far he got from using the right name. 

“Jimmy, I think that’s enough pictures. You could go wait in the room we were just in if you like.” 

“Aww, Clark…” Jimmy was going to pout the whole way back to Metropolis if I didn’t let him stay for the interview. 

“Say, Shimmy, Dot, the youngest secretary out there, leaves for lunch about now. Why don’t you see if she would show you around?” 

“Golly, Mr. Wayne. Why do you have three secretaries anyway?” 

Please Jimmy; just leave before he kills you with your own memory card. 

“Three? Magda is the secretary for Gotham, Mrs. Davidson is the head secretary for all the other secretaries stationed all over the world where Wayne Enterprises does business. I think Dot is the secretary for either Magda or Mrs. Davidson, I’m not sure which. You should ask her.” 

“Wow! Your secretaries have secretaries? I’ll defiantly ask Dot how that works. Call me when you’re ready Clark!” Bruce offers a cheery wave as Jimmy finally heads out the door. 

I can only offer Bruce a small shrug and smaller words. ”He’s young yet.” 

A disgusted grunt, clearly implying he was never that young. The sad part is; he never was. He pulls a sheet of paper from an envelope on his desk and hands it to me. 

“This is what the PR department wants me to tell you about, bulleted for easy assimilation into a newspaper article. Do you have any other questions?” 

I speed read through the memo, the only point I note is the underlined and highlighted portion at the bottom. It implores Brucie to avoid answering any questions about Luther. 

“So, Bruce, what don’t they want you to tell me about Luther?” 

He rolls his eyes. “They don’t want to get into a pissing contest with Lex before we even purchase the listed businesses in Metropolis. Afraid he might see this as a move against him, which it is.” 

He waits, one hand creeping toward his laptop. Right! That’s my cue. “I don’t have any more questions for the article. But about the last meeting, I …”

I break off, as he gestures for me to come around the desk. He types as I walk, then changes screens to show me something. I lean forward to get a better look, placing my left hand on his right armrest. So close, yet so far. 

“In between meetings, I’ve been working on a more user friendly interface for the Watchtower systems. I’m trying to work it out so it will only respond to the biometrics of JL members and not intruders. Can’t use fingerprints because some leaguers, with secret identities to protect, wear gloves.” 

Trying to ignore this dig, I cast around for something to say. It’s always weird when Batman stares out at me from Brucie’s clothes. “Say Bruce, do you ever check for listening devices?” He gives me a funny look, and I feel dumb for asking. 

“A team does a sweep every morning and I check every time I come into the office. I’m getting a nice collection of what competing firms consider cutting edge.” I hear the scoff in his voice at his competitor’s expense. “Why, do you see any?” 

Having started this topic, I feel obliged to look around. Not a thing out of place, like the office is never used. I’m sure that’s the look Bruce was going for. “Nope, nobody is observing us.” 

He shrugs and goes back to the interface. My left hand, resting on the arm of his chair, chooses this moment to spin him around to face me. We’re both surprised, but I recover first and lean in to kiss him. My lips are tingling, without the Kevlar and under the cologne is a heady musk. The scent of Bruce, and I want that scent permanently imbedded in every sheet I own. His heartbeat’s jumped and I need to hear the other noises of excitement he makes. I pull back, before I’m too far gone, I have to ask. 

“Why didn’t you say something when you figured it out?” 

He opens his mouth and somebody knocks. I’m back on the other side of the desk before she can open the door enough to peak in. 

“I’m sorry Mr. Wayne, but Mr. Fox says he needs to speak with you immediately.” 

Bruce looks more than a little unsteady as he brings himself back to reality. “Right, thank you Magda. Mr. Kent, I’ll have to get back to you with an answer to that last question.” 

The Brucie smile is for Magda, who holds up two fingers before leaving. I stand up to take my leave, but have no words. I finally break down and do what I have been dreaming about for years, and his life demands he kick me out of his office. I smile and shrug as I grab the memo and leave. On the other side of the doors, I peel Jimmy off the clearly uninterested Dot and head for the elevators. Even fielding Jimmy’s questions, I can still hear Bruce take several deep breaths before picking up line two to talk to Fox. So I decide to make sure our next meeting is ridiculously soon. 

sB _Sb_ Bs

A Meeting of Dreams Damn it to hell, why did tonight have to be so frickin’ quiet? I really needed something to distract me, so naturally ever criminal in Gotham took the night off. So I will force my mind to focus on, let’s see, this building! It’s Batman’s favorite spot in Gotham. Can’t see all of Gotham from here and there are several taller building, but it has other perks. Somebody turned the flat roof into a green space, with benches and plants so it’s rather restful. But the gargoyles and water spouts on the outside of the building were as gothic and sturdy as a night predator could wish. 

Batman had room to spread out on the gargoyles on each corner; I could lie down or exercise on a quiet night. The baroque design allowed me to walk all the way around the building without going onto the roof proper. If I held with such notions, I might say it was a fun building to kill time on. But, as Batman, I am much more impressed by the practical applications of this structure. My stomach growls, but before I can regret passing up supper a voice speaks behind me. Not just a voice, the voice I came out without supper to avoid thinking about. 

“Sounds like a job for Superman!” 

I let him hear the sigh, though I doubt he knows why I make that noise. I turn to stare down at him, and realize he’s holding a picnic basket. I blink several times and still see Superman floating about the pebble pathway holding a large wicker picnic basket. I have no reason to be seeing things, which means this has to do with earlier today, the little incident in my office I have not been thinking about with every fiber of my being. 

He shrugs a little, before selecting a spot to place the basket. He starts pulling out dishes and food containers. The silence gets to him, as it always does and he starts explaining. Yet again, I think it’s a good think I’m not a super-villain. He’d have spilled all his secrets to me years ago just to fill up the silence I work in. Except that one secret he’d actually managed to keep until this morning. 

“I called you at home and Alfred was rather miffed that you had taken off without ‘adequate nutritional substance for your nightly activities.’ So I offered to deliver, picked it up and here I am. I hadn’t eaten yet either, so I thought I would join you.” 

He gestures expansively over the unpacked contents of the basket and my stupid stomach rumbles again. I roll my eyes but walk toward the roof; we need to have this conversation. It’s my own fault for avoiding thinking about it all day. 

“I didn’t bother with a blanket, because I knew you’d be on a roof, despite it being so quiet in Gotham tonight. But this is a really nice roof, as such things go. I could go get a blanket if you want, be back before you know it.” 

I get an image in my mind of what got spilled on the blanket last time Brucie went on a picnic with a girl. It wasn’t food. “If the bugs up here can get through my Kevlar, they’ve earned a bite of me.” 

I can tell that was misinterpreted by the way Clark’s eyes widen. He’s trying to determine what he will bite when he gets into my suit. Is a mass breakout from Arkham too much to ask? I settle down before the food and open a container to hide the emotions passing faster than I can name them. Cranberry sauce on turkey panini. It’s still warm. Alfred sent sandwiches, not the fancy dinner he had ready when I left. 

“Clark, your average travel distance between Gotham and Metropolis, compensating for the number of cats you stop to rescue, is six minutes and forty-two seconds. So, after you got to Gotham, what’d you and Alfred talk about while he readied this feast?” He blushes, and I want to bury my face in my hands. 

“I can go faster, if properly motivated.” He’s trying for seductive and distracting. It doesn’t work. 

“Discussion topic, Clark.” A heavy sigh, before he starts talking twice as fast as normal. 

“Well, Alfred mentioned you were a little stressed when you got back from the office and wondered if I knew why since he knew I had an appointment with you today, so it’s your own fault for letting Alfred know all about everything you do and I don’t know how he got it out of me, because it’s not like he asked directly but I told him about Fox interrupting our meeting and then I was telling him about our meeting and that I finally got around to kissing you.” Clark didn’t pause to breathe; he paused to grin sheepishly at me from under long eyelashes. “He sniffed and said under his breath, ‘it was about bloody time’ before handing me the basket and escorting me out.” 

_Et tu_ , Alfred? I distract myself by nibbling on the sandwich. Clark grabs a thermos and shows it to me with a grin. 

“How do you like your coffee, Bruce?” 

“I don’t drink coffee while on patrol.” He blinks at me, startled. I feel compelled to explain. “I like coffee in the morning, or when I have to play Brucie. But caffeine, besides being a mild painkiller, also affects your balance. As Batman, I can’t afford to not control my body or be the slightest bit off when balancing on a roof. I generally leave enough time between my last cup and putting on the suit for the caffeine to be metabolized.” 

“Caffeine affects your balance? I didn’t know that.” Great, now he’s intrigued with what I know. I should have gone with insulting him off the roof for not knowing how I take my coffee after this many years of working together. I know how he likes his. “What about water? Do you drink water while you’re on duty? I can’t imagine it has any side effects.” 

“Clearly you have no idea how hard it is to pee while wearing this suit.” If I’m aiming for an insulting bat-growl, why did that come out in such a joking manner? I worked too hard to learn to control myself for my voice to betray me like that. Except it’s Clark, and around him control doesn’t seem so important. At least not when he’s staring at my crotch, trying to figure out how to get my dick out. 

Does Clark ever have to pee while he is on patrol, or is his bladder control as exotic as the rest of him? I try to picture Superman whipping it out in a dark alley and almost laugh. Without an emergency, I’m relaxing, because I’m safe with him. Crap, crap, crap! I finish off the sandwich and savor a sip of water. Calming breaths and I open my mouth to speak, but he beats me to the punch. 

“When you figured out I was having crazy sex dreams about you, why didn’t you do anything about it? It’s not like you to not take the initiative.” 

I reach up and retract the lenses from my eyes. He needs to see the truth in my words, even as I try to figure out what words to say. The truth is clearly not an option here, except it’s all I’ve got. 

“You realized Batman and Brucie are playing tug-a-war with my body, right?” At his nod I force myself to continue. “Brucie is a slut. Batman would take it up the ass if he thought it would get him something he wanted. Neither one has a clue what to do with you. You’re open, honest, straight, and monogamous. We work together. Whatever my dreams might be trying to tell me, this is clearly a bad idea.” 

His eyes widen, and I dread what’s coming. “You dream about me? About us?” 

I clap my hands together, because I can’t snap my fingers in these gloves. “Focus, Kent. Bad idea, remember?” 

No, he doesn’t remember. He’s floating slowly toward me with a deer in headlights expression. I try to find something to say, to get him to back off and realize I must have the same look on my face. He stops just before he touches me, and I feel cheated. 

“Have you ever dreamed about making love to me on this roof?” 

Well, yes, on another quiet night. But that was NOT the point I was trying to make. Words have deserted me and he’s kissing me again. Does his skin tingle all over like that or just where our lips meet? I want to find out so bad, but so much of our skin is covered. Whose stupid idea was that? 

There’s a pain in my codpiece that brings me back to reality. My stupid dick is trying to grow in a suit that wasn’t designed for such expansion. When did my back get pushed into the pebble pathway? Control! I reach for the learned control I work so hard on, to get the willpower to push him away. He looks so hurt, so disappointed. Work with it for my control of this situation. Find words to make him hurt so much he goes away, even if it’s the truth. 

“Clark, I just figured it out when you kissed me in the office. I thought you were dreaming about Lois, or someone you could be with forever.” He’s surprised now, so I find my way to my feet and push the advantage. 

“I’m a great fuck, but I’ll shove you out of bed when I’m done. You’ll be so embarrassed; you’ll never be able to work with me again. If you do surprise me and let us work together again, I’ll rub it in your face, just because I’m a bastard. You think I insult you, abuse you now? What do you think I will do to you after you’ve screamed my name as you stain the sheets? And, boy, do I have ideas for getting you to scream my name. Soon you’ll be just another one of Brucie’s sycophants, begging for a repeat performance. Do you really want to be reduced to that?” 

He’s just standing there, grinning at me. His smile is far too close to the ones Batman practices on repeat offenders. That smile tells me this is not going the way I want. I thought about the kryptonite in the cave before I dressed, but dismissed it as unnecessary in telling a person you couldn’t be with them. I must be getting stupid in my old age. 

His eyes glow and I feel the armor on my legs grow warm before giving way. He cut the bit that goes into the boots so that I stand there in with my legs exposed. And half of an erection, pushing up through cotton boxers. That erection likes being freed and grows in appreciation. 

“So how many of Brucie’s conquests can do that?” His voice is husky and he’s moving toward me again. I step back, only to trip over the remains of my pants. I could’ve got my balance back, but he’s used this opportunity to put me on the ground. I swallow, blink and he’s naked, aroused and straddling my legs. An idea this bad shouldn’t be so beautiful. 

“Clark, did you hear what I said to you?” My voice is husky now, making the words way too seductive. 

“Of course I did Bruce! Your voice turns me on, so I listen to it every chance I get. You should really talk more. I understood what you were trying to say, but I also saw what you missed.” He reaches out and starts teasing my cock through the underwear. “You pointed out that logic says this is a bad idea. The same logic that failed to notice I got aroused every time you spoke. Then you said you dreamed about me, planned out ways to make me scream your name. And, to top it all off, you claimed you were such a jackass that it would drive me stupid or away. You forgot that you were a jerk when I fell in love.” 

He pauses as my stupid dick jerks in response to the word love. I should have that thing cut off. “You didn’t consider the fact that I won’t let you kick me out of bed. Go on, try it. Kick me off of this roof and I’ll never dream about you again.” 

It’s so tempting to let Batman try, but ever more so tempting to not try. Let this thing happen and see where it’ll go. Before I can decide he pulls down the underwear, torturously slow. I can’t remember the last time I was this hard. How am I ever going to get super sperm out of my cape? With that question comes the realization that this is happening, it’s gone too far for me to control it. 

My hands start fighting each other, trying to get the gloves off. Finally I get to touch him, tingles in my fingertips until he leans back. I sit up to reach for him and he shoves me back, effortlessly. His left hand holds me down, almost big enough to cover the bat on my chest. I growl my need, words pointless now. He grins at me for a long minute before changing position so he can take my cock into his mouth. Maybe I won’t have it cut off after all. And if he does that with his tongue one more time, I just might see about having another one attached. 

But he doesn’t do that with his tongue, he starts to suck and swallow, and his mouth is burning hot. When his nose digs into my skin, I could touch eternity. Instead, I move. A kick, a throw and he’s on his back, surprised at his new position. I love doing that to him, but not as much as I know I’m going to love what I’m about to do. Like a strange game of twister, I put my right leg under his left, and my left over his right leg. When I press our pelvises together, I’m already hard again. Clark is up on his elbows, watching with amazement. 

Apparently this position never came up in his fantasies. I make a mental note to find out just how tame those fantasies are, so I can prolong this exciting education. My right hand holds us together, before I get around to stroking us. I set as slow a pace as I can, but my own need has me accelerating things. Clark’s face is flushed, his eyes glassy and his body only breaths occasionally. I find I’m no longer mad. He makes a keening noise and comes with a full body shiver. I join him soon enough. 

Finally laying back to breathe, my soul is screaming ‘again’. My body isn’t there yet, but it will be shortly. I notice Clark moving around so I try to focus on him. He’s moving as fast as he can, repacking the picnic basket with the remnants of my pants on top. I’ll admit to a little confusion, but I try not to let it show in my voice. 

“That didn’t work up your appetite?” 

He floats over me, kissing my forehead as he pulls up my underwear. “Oh, it did. Just not that appetite.” 

He pulls me to him with the right hand, as the left holds the basket. I think we’re flying, but it’s hard to tell as he starts talking in my ear, in a matter-of-fact tone. “It’s a quiet night in Gotham, but it’s going to get noisy in your little cave. In that ridiculous chair in front of your computers, on the computers, in the Batmobile, on the hood of the Batmobile and you have a shower down there. Alfred will bring us snacks as we need them. He’s very happy for us, you know.” 

I stop his words with a kiss, because I finally realize that’s the best way to shut him up. Why couldn’t I have figured this out years ago? Why was such a bad idea so perfect? If I missed this for years, I might need to brush up on my detective skills when I come up for air. Except, if Clark has his way, I’ll never come up for air. I find I have no problem with that as I grow hard in the chill of the cave. 

sB _Sb_ Bs


End file.
